I’m a pajama Iraqi, my wife’s a Romanian galand our daughter is the thief of Baghdad.My mother still boils the Euphrates and the Tigris,my sister has learned how to make piroshkifrom her Russian mother-in-law.Our friend, a knife Moroccan, stabs an Englishsteel fork into a fish born on Norwegian shores.All of us are workers sacked from the scaffoldingsof the tower we wanted to build in Babel.All of us are rusty spearsthat Don Quixote threw at the windmills.All of us are still shooting at dazzling starsa moment before they are swallowed upinto the Milky Way.